Genevieve and the thick-browed looker.
Can I love you, interracial? Can you feel it? How about the good boys in nice, clean white shoes? White and ebony. I’m clean. I would like to mix; your Chocolate with my ivory. It won’t be about the simple drugs. Not about the guys that loves my licking. Let me get what I want. I suppose it’s ordinary. It’s not about marveling the feelings. My mouth courts you. They could. I hope your legs would get weak since I could play a harp. You’ll like harps. In turn, you’ll love me for my ivory. Think about rings, and my fingers with nice practiced nails. Thrusting the trust with thrust. You must trust the thrust. Can I hold your head? You can taste mine. It’s motion picture amongst your saliva. Can I love you, interracial? It won’t be pornographic like how I’d imagine. Just your chocolate with my ivory.
